The Miserable
by shego219
Summary: AU. The "Heroes" modern take on Victor Hugo's classic "Les Miserables." Chapter 6 - Nathan saves a life, but two are in jeopardy. On hiatus.
1. Apartment on the Fourth Floor

The Miserable 

Summary: The "Heroes" take on Victor Hugo's classic Les Miserables. (Admit it, you're intrigued.)

_General Notes_

I don't own Les Mis (duh) or "Heroes"

FYI - So far I've planned approximately 20 chapters.

1 – **Apartment on the Fourth Floor**

October -- There was nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Just the rest of eternity to face his embarrassment.

Pulling the collar of his jacket up to his ears, Nathan glanced at the gray skies above and cursed his luck. Of course it would rain, today of all days.

The day on which, after nine years, Nathan had been released from prison.

It was hard to adjust; first to life on the inside, now to life on the outside.

Nathan hurried down the sidewalk as the rain began to fall. Soon it would saturate his coat and pelt his unruly hair and beard. He made a mental note to do something drastic about the beard – it had been too long since he had had a decent shave.

Mechanically, Nathan paused and changed directions, doubling back. The beard was actually OK. So far it allowed him to fly under the radar. The paparazzi knew of his release and would be ready to pounce at any moment.

Manhattan, like life, was full of surprises. Some choice words certainly came to mind as Nathan viewed what had once been his apartment building. At least it was still standing. Well, half of it anyway.

Nathan however was determined as he made his way briskly around the charred half of the building. The fire escape was still intact, but suddenly Nathan remembered he wouldn't need it.

More like **didn't** need it.

In prison, Nathan had been very cautious about concealing his power. He wasn't sure how flying inmates were handled, but he stopped taking gambles a long time ago. He had almost escaped once by clearing the courtyard fence in a single bound. He made it look like he had climbed the fence, but the guards caught up to him anyway.

Needless to say, he didn't get out early for good behavior.

The floor shuddered as Nathan landed on the fourth floor in front of door number 34. Ducking under the yellow "Caution" tape that was strewn everywhere, he turned the knob and let himself into his old apartment.

It was shabbier than Nathan remembered. Furniture was missing; a curtain was singed; and apparently some of his walls had become canvases for aspiring graffiti artists. After rooting around in the kitchen, Nathan found an empty garbage bag and began to salvage what he could.

Half an hour later, Nathan stepped over the tape and out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him.

And then another door clicked shut.

Nathan looked up and found himself face-to-face with a bewildered young stranger. The man was dark complexted, possibly of Indian descent.

Nathan cleared his throat. "I was collecting what's left of my belongings…" he began, avoiding the man's gaze.

"You're Nathan Petrelli." It wasn't a question. "You're quite famous."

The stranger seemed more amused than judgmental. He smiled slightly. "I can't believe I lived across the hall from you all this time."

"And you are...?"

"Mohinder Suresh." The man shifted the box he was holding so as to offer Nathan a hand to shake. "_Doctor_ Mohinder Suresh. I was collecting the rest of my belongings as well."

"Where do you live now?" Nathan asked, wondering if he knew of any apartments for sale.

"Another apartment across town. They're all the same nowadays." Mohinder stared at him a moment longer.

"Come have dinner with us." Again, it wasn't a question.

"Seriously?" A small smile tugged at Nathan's mouth. "I mean, you're not afraid of…"

"No." Mohinder was determined, yet sincere. "I know what you did and you don't scare me. So," he said, heading for the fire escape, "are you coming?"

Nathan took one last look at his apartment, then headed down the hall with a question of his own.

"So who do you mean by 'us'?"


	2. The Heroism of Passive Obedience

I was in quite a hurry when I wrote this, so just tell me if I made a lot of mistakes.

2 – **The Heroism of Passive Obedience**

"Molly, will you pass the salt please?"

The frail girl nudged the salt shaker towards her caregiver and eyed Nathan suspiciously for the millionth time that night. Mohinder had already explained to him that her parents had been murdered. No reason was known other than that they possessed special powers, as did Molly. Nathan stayed silent on the subject.

Looking at Molly now, Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was like she knew something about him, other than his criminal background, which Mohinder had already disclosed with her. The way she was watching him made Nathan feel guilty, like she suspected him of another crime he had yet to commit.

Once the dinner was finished and the plates were cleared, the trio proceeded to sit in the living room area surrounded by an awkward silence. After a good deal of conversation had started and failed, Molly claimed she was "absolutely exhausted" and said her goodnights. Nathan suddenly found it was increasingly difficult to keep his own eyelids open as well.

"You're tired also?" Mohinder observed.

"I should be leaving anyway," Nathan replied as he made a motion to stand.

Mohinder halted him. "Please, stay here if you would like. I doubt you have anywhere else to go."

"No," Nathan realized. He had honestly forgotten his situation already.

"Then you can have the couch." Mohinder rose and headed to the hallway. "I'll be in my study working if you need anything."

"Thanks," Nathan responded as Mohinder flicked off the lights, leaving him alone in the dark with his thoughts.

To the casual observer, Nathan Petrelli's life was easy to define. It wasn't too hard to classify him as a bad person.

In retrospect, he had to admit his intentions were shady. He had started as an honest businessman with fledgling political aspirations. He had married a great woman (one he probably didn't deserve) and started the perfect family. He was close with his parents and his younger brother, who had always looked up to him, a fact Nathan hadn't realized until he stopped visiting him in prison.

But perfect wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Somewhere along the way, his dreams got derailed, leading him into a downward spiral of gambling and subsequent debt. He got involved in the stock market, which only made matters worse.

Nathan had impulsively bought a good number of shares in an airline company (for irony's sake). Over time, he became such a well-known contributor that he befriended the owner of the company. So naturally, Nathan didn't think much of it when his friend tipped him off that the company was due to take a nose-dive in the market and that he would be wise to transfer his investments.

Yeah. Big mistake.

Within several months' time, Nathan was sentenced, along with a few of the company's other 'business partners', to eight years in prison (plus the one he received for his attempted escape), which seemed a little harsh until you figured in some aggravated assault claims. His wife wasted no time in filing for divorce and full custody of their sons, and his politically influential father basically disowned him on national television. His brother almost disappeared from the picture, and when his visits grew increasingly sporadic, Nathan knew he had lost his only ally.

And right now, trapped inside his head, Nathan was feeling lower than ever. He should have been grateful that this virtual stranger trusted him and gave him food and shelter for the night. But it _wasn't_ enough.

He needed money.

Groping about the foreign living area in the dark, Nathan held his breath, praying he wouldn't be discovered. He was nearing the door when he bumped into something that felt like a coat rack. It was damn near impossible to tell whose was whose, but he started going through the pockets anyway.

Just as his fingers closed around a well-stocked wallet, the light flicked on. Nathan blinked, taking in his surroundings once more. Mohinder was standing near the light switch, watching him from across the room, with an expression akin to fury etched across his features.

"What the hell are you doing?" He strode across the apartment and come to a stop by the door, towering over Nathan.

Nathan was honest-to-God terrified, but he didn't have time to think. Instinctively, he swung out his arm, procuring the wallet and clubbing Mohinder in the chest in one swift motion.

Adrenaline racing, Nathan fumbled with his friend's money. He yanked out a couple hundreds and looked up in time to see Mohinder lunging toward him. He tackled Nathan, sending both of them sprawling to the floor.

Both men struggled to their feet, simultaneously pummeling each other. Nathan's fist made contact with Mohinder's jaw. Mohinder began to raise his arm, as if to punch back, but stopped.

"Take it," Mohinder growled. "Take the money." Again, Nathan could sense the determination in the younger man's demeanor. They stood staring at each other, panting in frustration.

"Mohinder?" A small voice echoed throughout the room. Nathan and Mohinder both turned to see Molly, her slight frame huddled in the empty hallway. The poor girl looked so frightened that Nathan instantly regretted ever coming here and meeting her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her shaky voice directed more at Mohinder.

"Everything's fine," Mohinder lied, stepping toward her. "Go back to bed."

Nathan, seeing his chance to escape, broke free from the captive atmosphere and dashed for the door. He barely saw Mohinder turn out of the corner of his eye as he bolted out into the hallway.

The people were waiting there for him already.

Not recognizing anyone, Nathan inferred that these were some of Mohinder's neighbors, apparently disturbed by their neighbor's fight.

_Oh crap_.

"Nathan, what are you doing out there?" a familiar voice called out. Nathan winced with guilt as the door behind him opened and Dr. Suresh emerged.

One of Mohinder's disgruntled neighbors pointed a finger in Nathan's face. "You know this guy?" Mohinder nodded, not unkindly.

"And he's not giving you any trouble?"

"No, no trouble," Mohinder replied smoothly. "We were just discussing a, um, donation for a case of his that I've been considering. I'm sorry if we woke you."

With just a few final grunts and grimaces, the crowd dispersed, wondering what their crazy neighbor was planning. Nathan, finally feeling truly exhausted as the day's events caught up with him, turned to face his victim and hero. The good doctor's expression was unreadable.

"Thank you," Nathan said, slightly harsher than he had intended," but what do you really want?"

Mohinder raised an eyebrow. He proceeded to draw a slip of paper out of his pocket, unfold it, and hand it to Nathan.

"You forgot this," he replied, nudging Nathan's clenched fist with the paper.

With shaking hands, Nathan took the paper and glanced at it. Either the dim light was playing tricks on his sight, or it was a check.

A rather _large_ check.

"I can't take this," Nathan croaked, gazing pitifully at his companion.

"It's got your name on it," he replied, shrugging. "But promise me one thing."

"Anything," Nathan answered earnestly.

Mohinder smiled. "That you'll use it for something great, something with a real purpose. I think that, along with the money in your pocket, should help you keep an honest living for quite a while."

"An honest living…" Nathan repeated. He made to return the cash he had pocketed earlier, but Mohinder held up his hand, gesturing him to stop.

Nathan laughed. "You are truly a man of God. Charitable, wise…"

"There is no God," Mohinder responded, a spark of determination in his voice.

"If you say so," Nathan muttered. The two stood in the quiet hallway a moment longer.

"So," Mohinder said, hoping to end their awkward conversation on a higher note, "anything else I should know about?" The way he said it, with a tentative smile and laid-back manner, made Nathan decide to come (fully) clean.

"I can fly," Nathan stated, looking Mohinder dead in the eye. He stepped back slightly and even levitated (as much as the tiny hall would allow) for effect.

Mohinder's eyes grew wide, clearly astounded. "Incredible," he replied.

Nathan shrugged. "It's not something I do very often. Just out of curiosity," he began, eyeing the closed door, "what's _her_ power?"

"Who, Molly?" Mohinder asked, following his gaze. "She's clairvoyant. Give her a map, name a person and she can find them."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

"Wow." Nathan took one final look at the apartment. "Well, I suppose…"

"… You should be on your way," Mohinder finished for him. "But where exactly are you going?"

Nathan glanced at his strange new friend. "I'm not sure. But when I get there," he said with a smile, "you'll be the first to know."


	3. To Entrust is Sometimes to Abandon

And now for something completely different…

3 – **To Entrust is Sometimes to Abandon**

October, the same year.

Looking out the window as if anticipating someone, she almost swore she saw headlights in the distance this time.

Turning back to her surroundings, Candice Wilmer slouched on her barstool, stirring her drink absentmindedly and sighing loudly just to distress the bartender. The (current) redhead stared at one of the garish neon signs in the window, willing it to look a little more respectable.

Truth be told, the illusionist could have transformed the drab little motel, and adjacent bar, as much as she pleased since she was almost part owner now. But her business partner-slash-husband had strongly advised her not to; the motel had been around forever and people would get suspicious if it suddenly 'changed' overnight. Candice wrinkled her nose and worked on convincing herself he was just jealous of her.

Candice happened to glance over at the door in time to notice the stranger enter. The mysterious person had the hood of their jacket pulled up, but the figure was so obviously female. Sure enough, she pushed back her rain-splattered hood, and Candice found she wasn't the only one staring anymore.

The woman was a knockout, a tall shapely blonde with facial features equally unique and beautiful. She crossed the room, either ignoring or unaware of the attention given to her, and sat down on the stool next to Candice. The two sat in silence, letting music from the tinny jukebox fill the void.

"So, can you tell me how far it is from here to Las Vegas?" the blonde finally asked as Candice took a drink of her beverage.

" 'Bout seventy miles that way," Candice replied after swallowing. She pointed out the window in a generally north direction. The stranger nodded. "You looking for work up there?"

"Yeah," she replied, fidgeting a little. The bartender offered her a beer, which she refused.

Candice stared at her again. "You a stripper?"

"What? No," her companion responded, her expression slightly appalled.

"You could be," Candice muttered into her drink. The other woman smiled slightly at her remark. Candice noted that even her smile was amazing, not a crooked or chipped tooth in sight.

"I'm Niki by the way," the blonde added.

"Michelle," she lied, offering Niki her hand to shake. "So is that really all that brings you here to my lovely bar on this night? Directions to Vegas?"

"_Your_ bar? Oh, no, I was actually at the motel looking for… someone, but there was no one at the desk. Do you own the motel, too?"

"The motel belongs to me," a gruff voice answered instead.

Both women looked behind them. In the spot the bartender had occupied moments ago now stood a different man whom Candice wrinkled her nose at disapprovingly. He slightly reminded Niki of a hawk with his angled features and dark, looming presence.

"This is my 'significant other,' Sylar Gray," Candice remarked dryly. Niki would never have guessed the two were close. Business partners, maybe…

"So do you need a room?" the stranger questioned. "Are you traveling alone?"

"No, I don't need a room," she said, looking up, "and I'm not exactly alone. I'm traveling with my daughter."

Candice's eyes grew wide, and an awkward silence followed. Niki never should have mentioned it; she was feeling guilty already.

"Hold old is she?" Candice asked softly after a pause.

"Eight," Niki answered, her voice starting to break. She had to ask; it was now or never. She dabbed at her eyes with her jacket sleeve. "So, do you have any kids?"

The rain was still coming down in buckets as Niki ran to her car, splashing through the puddles in the parking lot. _I was only gone a minute_, she told herself. Claire had been sound asleep, and the lot had been empty so she had taken a gamble and simply locked the car.

She knew this was a shitty thing to do. Not just the leaving-Claire-in-the-car thing; the leaving-her-behind-with-strangers thing. But they had kids, too, right? Niki had seen them herself, a dark-haired son and daughter fast asleep back in the motel like her own daughter would be soon. It would be good for her to have a chance to settle down and make some friends.

By the time Niki returned carrying Claire, her teeth were chattering and her jacket was nearly soaked through. Carefully, Candice helped Niki transfer the sleeping girl into her arms. Niki also thrust a suitcase onto the ground near her feet.

"I think that's all her stuff."

"And you'll pay us?" Sylar asked, though it sounded more like a statement. He had this perpetually hungry look in his eyes that Niki was trying to ignore.

"Yes," she answered him. "I'm not sure how much I'll earn yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I do. I can pay whatever you ask."

A look passed between the strange couple, but their faces appeared the same as before when Niki looked again.

"Remember to write when you get there so we can get your address," Candice reminded her. She offered a sad smile, which made Niki feel worse than before. She swallowed hard, hoping to remove the persistent lump rising in her throat.

"Right," she said simply. "So… I should probably go." And with that Niki turned away, her tears mixing with the rain, and hoped she had done the right thing.

_It's not like this is permanent,_ she thought._ You'll get to see her again when you make enough money, get back on your feet._

Once again in her car, but this time alone, Niki cast one last look in the rearview mirror before speeding off into the night.

As soon as the heart-broken woman and her car were out of sight, Sylar turned toward his partner, already planning his snide remark. Candice was still looking out into the distance, as if she expected Niki to turn back at any moment. Then, steadily, her appearance began to change. Her shock of red hair slowly darkened, as did her eyes, which grew colder by the second.

"Was that really necessary, or do you enjoy showing off?" Sylar sneered in reference to the 'children' Candice had readily shown Niki. As if either one of them were children people. And now they had a real one on their hands.

"Don't act so upset. I'm making you money," Candice snipped, and with that she turned on her heel and strode back into the gloomy bar and out of the rain.


	4. Authority Resumes Its Sway

Sorry for the delay since the last chapter; I wasn't planning on taking a hiatus. It was due to a little thing I like to call not planning ahead. Anyway, back to the show!

4 – **Authority Resumes Its Sway**

January, three years later.

Everyone these days seemed to be headed to Vegas, ready to get lucky or meet their match. People had been coming in droves since the new casino opened.

_**His**_ new casino. But it's not like Nathan was counting.

Walking the floor of the Landing Strip (retro, nostalgic, with just a hint of Vegas class), Nathan went unnoticed by most of the zealous gamblers. His face wasn't widely recognized these days, thankfully because news from (or to) New York didn't travel fast.

However, on the rare occasions someone might recognize him, one of his two fellow co-owners, Simon Chester or Noel Blake, would cover for Nathan. They were exceedingly loyal, proving Nathan's judgment of character had matured. Both men were equally dedicated to helping him keep up his charade of being Johnathan Grey, a loner businessman from anywhere but Nevada.

Within the city, everybody knew his face and alias. In under a month bouncers were allowing him into clubs and casinos without ID, to Nathan's great relief. Although he had all of "Mr. Grey's" necessary objects of identification, using the fraudulent papers still made him feel a little guilty.

Speaking of fraudulent, at the moment, there was someone security had asked Nathan to check out on the floor.

That's right, _security _had asked him to check out one of the players. There was no way it could be that bad, Nathan thought, grimacing.

Lost in his thoughts, Nathan crashed into and almost managed to knock over a tall, blonde waitress, judging by her uniform. Or he thought he had. Looking back up at her, she had barely seemed to flinch. And his side was starting to hurt a little already…

"Are you okay?"

She knelt down on the ground beside him. Nathan laughed, embarrassed – he hadn't even realized he had fallen down.

"Clearly, I made an impact on you…" the waitress started to joke, before she quickly acquired a look of recognition. "Oh my God, you're- "

"Johnathan Grey, yeah, I get that a lot." Stumbling for a moment, Nathan quickly recovered and helped the waitress pick up the drinks and empty glasses he had caused her to spill. "So," he began, glancing surreptitiously at her nametag, "Jessica-"

"Actually, it's Niki. I didn't feel comfortable using my real name." Nathan noticed how she avoided making eye contact at this confession.

"I take it you're new here, Niki?"

"You could say that," she conceded, subtly dodging the question. Already, the woman was an enigma.

"That doesn't answer my question," Nathan replied bluntly.

Niki looked up at him, her taut expression immediately softening. "Sorry, I guess I'm just nervous. It's not every day you run into one of the most influential men of Vegas, who just happens to be your boss, roaming around the floor where you work."

"Not to mention knocking him over with your tray," Nathan added under his breath. Niki laughed.

"Okay, so don't think of me that way," Nathan responded, standing up along with Niki.

She seemed to consider it seriously for a moment. "It's kind of hard not to, especially considering the latest rumors."

"Concerning…?" Nathan queried, hoping no one had been doing any last-minute background checks.

"That you're one of the mayor's most respected financial backers. I hear you're quite the politician yourself?"

He shrugged. "I give advice where advice is needed."

"That doesn't answer my question," Niki teased. Nathan smiled slightly, but otherwise pretended he hadn't heard her. Seeing she wasn't going to get a response, Niki decided to cut to the chase.

"You should come see me later tonight."

"Uh, sure," Nathan replied, looking anywhere but at her. "What time do you get off work?"

"Oh, don't wait for me to get off work. I don't waitress that late, but I have a second job here."

"Are you, like, a show girl?"

"Hey, that's close enough," she laughed, disappearing back into the crowd.

tlmtlmtlmtlmtlmtlmtlmtlm

"He's cheating at what?" asked Nathan. Shortly after his encounter with Niki, he had found Noel Blake along with a growing crowd nearby.

"Blackjack," Noel replied calmly, contrasting his normally feisty demeanor and equally fiery red hair. "And there's a problem."

"No really," Nathan muttered sarcastically.

Noel pretended not to notice. "We can't actually prove he's cheating. He's just really, really good… it's uncanny."

"How good does he seem to be?" Nathan asked, hoping to probe deeper into the matter.

Noel glanced up at Nathan with a spark his pale blue eyes. "It's like he can tell what hand everyone else at the table has. Just by using his mind."

tlmtlmtlmtlmtlmtlmtlm

Matt Parkman had always been taught that the mind was a dangerous thing. It deceives and can be deceived… a skill Matt was now using to his great advantage.

Of course he would never use his power so blatantly as to draw attention under normal circumstances. But his plan needed a certain hook… one to get the real bigwigs of this casino involved.

Matt recalled the first time he saw Nathan Petrelli, fully knowing that this brilliant political icon was responsible for a crime. Matt hadn't actually handled the stock market crap, which was much to his relief, but he had taken statements for a few of the aggravated assault claims that had been responsible for most of the business boys' time in prison.

Filing your paperwork could result in a whole new ball game when you were on the NYPD.

But it seems that there were a few inconsistencies in one of the reports filed back then…

He had barely registered that Nathan had been released from prison a few months back, and Matt could really care less about the guy opening a casino. He had as much of a right to start over as anyone else in the country.

So when one of Matt's friends had tipped him off to a business man in Vegas that resembled the former Petrelli, he had taken off some vacation days he had been saving up and traveled out west, just to make sure Nathan wasn't up to anything shady.

Besides, it was a good idea to check up on some of these convicts, Matt convinced himself again, still feeling a tug of doubt.

_He knows who I am_.

The thought cut across the room like glass. At that moment, Matt looked up, locking eyes with Nathan, hoping to catch something more. A stray thought, possibly a mental confession…

"It's freaky, isn't it?"

Nathan closed his eyes, coming back to the man standing beside him. "Come again?"

"That guy. I forget his name: Marvin, Mark…"

Nathan sighed. "Matt. Matt Parkman."

"Yeah, yeah," Noel agreed, distracted. "But when he watches you watching him, it feels like he's staring right through you."

Nathan's mouth twitched in a worried smile. "I noticed."

Turning to leave, he threw one last glance at the cop he thought he had ditched in New York. He was still looking at Nathan, looking _through_ Nathan, as if he knew what he was thinking at that precise moment.

Nathan scoffed at his own thought. No one could read minds. Or so he hoped.


	5. First Sketch of Two Equivocal Faces

**A/N**: Warning! – This chapter contains mild Nathan/Niki shipping.

5 – **First Sketch of Two Equivocal Faces**

To begin with, his father had committed suicide. His mother, upon finding the body, had gone into shock, leaving her incapacitated for the next four days. On top of that, his girlfriend had left him for a junkie, and his first hospice patient (the woman's father) had died.

Peter Petrelli was about ready to throw in the towel himself.

Loosening his tie, Peter sat down on his bed and looked down out the window on his fellow citizens of NYC, all blissfully unaware of his suffering. They lead their own lives like on any other Sunday afternoon.

His spirits lifted minimally as he picked up the phone, his fingers dialing the number he knew by heart. He prayed the person on the other end would pick up for once.

_Damn you, Nathan,_ Peter swore as he was once again routed to his brother's voice mail. Surely he knew by now that his father – _their _father – was dead and buried. Hell, even Heidi and the kids had been there and they'd been divorced… how many years now?

Sighing, Peter got up, hoping to change his mood, along with the deathly black suit he only wore to funerals. He would need it two days in a row now.

--

At first the doctors thought it was cancer or asymptomatic tuberculosis. Niki was convinced it was neither. Her family had no history of cancer, and she rarely heard of anyone getting TB anymore, let alone anyone she would have come in contact with.

Her headaches were splitting, like two people were trying to control one brain.

Of course she was sick - things had been going too well. For once, it seemed like she had her life on track, and now a doctor was telling her she possibly had a brain tumor.

Sitting behind the wheel of her parked car in the lot of a diner near the Landing Strip, Niki meditated. Her job certainly wasn't that bad – she'd had worse. She was making good money and had really hit it off with her coworkers, not to mention her employers.

As a matter of fact, she was meeting a particular employer at that very diner in a few minutes. Not that either one of them could call it a date, but her time spent with this certain gentleman felt very… _promising_.

Running a hand through her hair, Niki put on a brave face for what felt like the millionth time in her disastrous life and opened the door.

--

_Someone is always watching_. He used to assume it was just a saying, but now he knew better.

Now he was the one watching.

Up until now, The Painter had been too high to notice the potential danger he had painted around himself. But now here it was, mocking him, proof that he was no longer ordinary.

Over the course of nine hours, Isaac Mendez had surrounded himself with paintings; dazzling, abstract masterworks that begged for him to remember painting them, yet he had no recollection.

He scanned his loft. No one could ever see these. The acts that they depicted could turn people against him, incriminate him. There was one in particular that haunted him… he shuddered, glimpsing the fear and anguish in his unknown subjects' eyes.

_Now where in God's hell am I going to hide all of these paintings?_

--

At the Petrelli mansion, Peter started going through things in his father's office. He had brushed off help from any of the maids, insisting he do it himself. Actually, he felt it would have been more Nathan's job than his, but he wasn't about to try calling his brother for the fourth time that day.

There was not a lot for Peter to do around the place – the study was already part of the library, so the majority of the furniture, files and books weren't going anywhere. He set to work clearing out some of his dad's papers.

It wasn't until Peter (in a fit of ripped-garbage-bag rage) knocked a paperweight into the box of papers to be shredded that he found the envelope with his name on it.

Curiously, he plucked the envelope out to study. Peter sighed. It was just like his family to hide things like this from him, things that might upset him. His father had clearly wanted to have the final word, and even in death, Angela wouldn't let him have it. Peter smiled at the thought, then picked a letter opener up off the desk.

_Dear Peter,_ it began:

_Your mother probably hasn't told you, but I felt that you needed to know. Both of us are involved in a secret organization known simply as The Company. As founding members, our goal was to unite and help evolved humans, like us… and, if genetics are any indication, you._

Peter stopped reading. _Evolved humans_… it was impossible. Sure, they existed, but those were random people in the streets, not him and his family. Then again, who was he to say they weren't? Aside from the whole being-rich business, Peter had always felt like there was something namelessly special about his family.

He resumed:

_Though he has never said anything directly to me, I suspect your brother has already developed his powers, which is why I'm addressing this letter solely to you. _

_You see, a while back, I met with a geneticist from India by the name of Chandra Suresh. Before he died, he informed me that the power you possess will most likely be empathetic mimicry – essentially, the ability to absorb powers from any other evolved human. He even told me of a possible second human who shares, or at least understands, your power – a man by the name of Gabriel Gray. When Suresh met him, he resided in Queens. However, since Dr. Suresh's passing, I'm afraid The Company has lost track of Mr. Gray._

Peter lowered the letter, already forming a plan to find this elusive Gabriel Gray.

He reached for the phone.

--

"I'm quitting."

"What?" Nathan dropped his toast.

Niki shifted in her seat, causing the vinyl to squeak. "I'm quitting my job at the casino. And it has nothing to do with… this," she amended, gesturing around the booth they were currently sharing.

"So, what's wrong?" her boss asked, concern darkening his features.

She sighed, toying with the napkin in her lap. "Where do I begin?"

Nathan reached across the table, taking one of her hands and bringing it to rest on the table interlocked with his.

She smiled tiredly up at him. "I've been keeping so many secrets, John."

Nathan almost did a double take before remembering Niki still knew him only by his pseudonym. He mentally kicked himself for picking such a boring name.

"So have I," he replied, his voice sounding a little cracked.

Biting her lip, Niki looked out the window, unable to make eye contact.

"I'm sick," she said, "and what's worse is that I have a daughter I've secretly been supporting."

"You have a daughter? Here?" Nathan inquired, his eyebrows reaching his forehead.

Niki shook her head. "No, she's staying with a couple a few miles south of here."

"What about her father?" he asked, grasping her hand tighter. Niki felt a tiny sliver of relief – she had been worried about how he would react towards her daughter, and here he was, showing genuine concern for a girl that he had never even met.

"Dead," she replied a little harshly.

"I'm sorry," Nathan said. Niki nodded in acknowledgment and took a drink of her coffee.

"You said you were sick?" Nathan asked after a moment's silence. She nodded again. "What's the prognosis?"

"What's with the fancy medical terminology?" Niki asked, looked slightly impressed.

Nathan laughed a little. "Sorry, I have a brother in med. school." He looked up into Niki's warm eyes, still waiting for a reply.

Suddenly, the warmth was gone, replaced with a skittish look of pure, strung-out nervousness.

"Oh shit," she swore, craning her neck to look over Nathan's head.

Crouching in an attempt to stay close to the booth and remain unseen, Nathan ventured a glance.

Coming in the main (and only) door of the restaurant were a group of employees from the Landing Strip. The party appeared to consist of mainly floor workers: dealers, a few bartenders, and (worst of all for the duo) waitresses.

Nathan returned to his seat, slouching slightly to remain hidden.

"They can't see us," Niki pleaded. Nathan nodded. She didn't need to explain – getting caught outside of your workplace with your boss (especially by your coworkers) never had good end results. He was already imagining the kind of results people would jump to.

"I have to go." Niki's curt tone sliced through his current thoughts. She was already halfway out of the booth. He caught her eye as she reached for her purse. Nathan had to almost literally bite his tongue to keep from calling out to, telling her wait.

She looked away first, guilt clear in her features. Nathan stared straight ahead, across the booth to where she had been sitting. He heard her heels clicking, followed her path to the door mentally, accounting for the time she spent stopping to greet her friends. When he pictured her at the door, crossing the threshold, he Nathan dared to look out the window.

--

Niki smiled and waved to the group from the casino one last time, then turned to face the door. She was in the clear.

_If I'm in the clear, then why do I feel like I might cry at any moment?_

Her vision started to blur, filled with tears.

Or so she hoped, because at that moment, she felt her blood start to boil. It felt like an entirely new entity was inside of her body, forcing her to turn around and attempt to reenter the diner.

As her fingers slipped around the knob, Niki slipped away from her body, falling down the stairs and into the darkness.

And somewhere in all the darkness, she swore she saw Johnathan Gray's face, and heard his voice, begging her to come back.


	6. Poverty, a Good Neighbor of Misery

**A/N**: I can think of a million reasons as to why I didn't update this story sooner, but I know you wouldn't want to read those excuses when you could read…

6 – **Poverty, a Good Neighbor of Misery**

_1:23 p.m. _

The Japanese businessman reluctantly tore his gaze away from his wristwatch. Time didn't mean much to him anyway, not anymore.

For the third time that hour, Hiro Nakumara folded up his map and looked at the road before him. The dusty highway was part of his destiny, no matter how hard he tried to change what he saw in the future.

The company he worked for had sent him on a business trip. Hiro looked behind him, back into the town he had come from and, if the future was any indication, was headed back to.

Neon signs blazed in the early afternoon sun, the largest one cheekily winking the slogan, "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas!"

The businessman turned his attention from the bright, inviting city to the bleak and barren lane before him and sighed.

Dejectedly, Hiro stuck out his thumb and waited.

-------------------

Nathan felt like a lion; specifically one that was down and had been kicked repeatedly.

The walk sign lit up and he crossed the street, striding away from the hospital he had been visiting as fast as his legs could carry him.

_I cost Niki her job_. Nathan felt numb all over. He wasn't 100% sure how exactly it had happened since he was with her at the time; he assumed whoever was in charge of Niki's position had met with his co-chairs. When he called Joel and Simon about his role in the whole ordeal, a secretary had curtly informed him that the consequences had yet to be decided. At least they were waiting for his input.

He hadn't thought of the best way to break it to Niki yet. He has assured her friends and co-workers alike that he would handle the situation.

Once she woke up, he would find a way to make this up to her.

That's right, Nathan thought; as if it wasn't bad enough she was fired and the rumors that she had been sleeping with him, her boss, had sprung up along with the news of her "illegitimate" daughter, she had blacked out back at the diner and had yet to regain consciousness. For a waitress-slash-stripper in Vegas, her luck seemed to be running shorter by the minute.

Nathan quickened his pace as he crossed the next street, realizing a split-second later that no one had followed him. He was standing alone in the middle of the crosswalk with don't walk blazing above him in red-orange neon. He finished his sprint across the road, barely missing two on-coming cars.

He turned around to face the crowd he had separated from, now waiting for a break in the traffic, when something else caught his eye.

Nathan noticed the truck before anyone else. He wasn't sure why – it wasn't old or new, just a truck that looked fairly lived in, like it was used to travel.

Then he noticed the driver was aiming a gun at his passenger.

BANG!

As Nathan watched, three things happened at once, almost as if in slow motion.

The gun went off. The driver slumped over sideways across the console, leaving the passenger trapped in his seat. And the truck, losing the control of its driver, careened onto the wrong side of the street, jumped the curb, plowed into a fire hydrant, and flipped.

All the sound returned to the scene as people on the street started screaming and yelling, walking and talking. It was like twenty conversations had been interrupted and stuck up again simultaneously, and above all the chaos, a shrill, high-pitched ringing caught Nathan's attention.

"…I need a bus… 13th Street… four blocks… hospital…"

Nathan turned around to face a stern-looking Matt Parkman, whose broken phone call he had overheard.

With a grimace, Matt hung up on the 911 operator and looked up.

"How long?" Nathan asked. At this point, he didn't care if Parkman recognized him; his main concerns were the passengers trapped in the wreck, alive or not.

"15 minutes," Matt replied somewhat harshly, bitter disappointment clearly lacing his words.

Nathan swore. "The hospital is right there!" he shouted, gesturing backwards the four blocks he had just traveled.

"Exactly!" the detective argued. "The hospital is right there, the wreck is too close. The accident is blocking the ambulance's path to it!"

Nathan groaned; the irony of this was certainly not lost on him.

"Isn't somebody going to do something?" Nathan shouted over the din as more people fled past him.

"There's nothing anybody _can_ do!" Matt shouted back. His words rang in Nathan's head and hung there like a double exposure, as if the cop had shouted twice. Nathan chalked it up to déjà vu and turned his attention back to the crisis at hand.

"Then I guess I'm not just anybody," he said to himself as he rolled up his sleeves.

"What are you doing?" he heard Matt scream as, in the midst of the all the dust and blood and people moving away, Nathan moved forward into the wreck without so much as a backwards glance.

As he approached the wreck, Nathan could barely make out the people inside, only noting that there were two men. Quickly assessing the mangled front end, Nathan decided it would be easiest to try going in through the already broken windshield; hopefully from the inside he would be able to more help than he was just by standing around outside.

It wasn't until he was halfway inside the wreck that someone recognized him. He almost cut his shoulder when he heard someone in the crowd shout out, "That's Johnathan Gray in there!" He definitely hit his head on the roof when he heard even more people calling out for help on his behalf.

"Nothing like an audience," he quipped under his breath before returning his focus to the task at hand.

Sliding into the cab between the two victims, Nathan quickly drew away from the driver in disgust – the nondescript man was soaked in blood and sporting a bullet wound in his stomach and extraordinarily glassy eyes. Nathan abruptly inferred that the shot he heard immediately before the accident was currently lodged in this man's intestines, which meant there wasn't much he could do for him now.

Nathan jumped about a foot and managed to hit his head on the roof again as the second passenger suddenly stirred, his shoulder brushing Nathan's arm.

"Where… am I?" the Asian-looking man asked in broken English. He squinted up at Nathan, his broken glasses preventing him from seeing much.

"It's okay," Nathan said as calmly as he could muster. "I'm going to get you out of here." He yanked on the man's seatbelt until the clasp broke free and quickly wrapped his arm under the victim's arms and around his back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the latter.

"Can you tell me anything about your friend over here?" Nathan asked, trying to distract the passenger as he figured out an escape route.

"I tried to stop him… saw the future…"

"You see the future, huh?" Nathan asked somewhat cheerfully, masking the sudden anxiety he felt knowing another person might have something in common with him, some sort of gift. "Well, then I hope you don't mind if I use _my_ powers."

"Your powers?" the man asked, looking him square in the face. Nathan simply grinned before turning away.

Covering his face with his free arm, Nathan planted his feet on the truck's dashboard and prepared to launch.

One final tug to make sure the victim was free of the debris and he was off like a shot, quickly careening through the truck's mangled body and out the vehicle's back windshield.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the injured businessman, Nathan half-rolled, half-dragged himself and the man out from under the wreck.

By some stroke of luck, the few people on the back side of the truck didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual about Nathan's method of exit; instead, they swarmed the pair while shouting directions for others to alert the paramedics.

"Whew," Nathan managed to gasp as he sat up in the street with a strangled laugh, "I guess we made it, buddy." He looked over at the man he had rescued, concern quickly filling his features. "Buddy?"

"He's unconscious!" he heard one of the paramedics screech to no one in particular. Nathan hadn't even noticed they had arrived.

"Sir?" Nathan heard a hundred voices, varying distances near and far from him. He raised a hand to his temple in an attempt to shield the pain.

"Sir," a different, younger paramedic repeated. "You need to come with us to the hospital to get checked out."

Nathan stared up at him, almost starting to protest, but through the sudden silence in his head, something told him that maybe, just maybe, he should get his head checked out relatively soon, and as he lay back down on the debris-covered street, he could have sworn he heard Matt Parkman telling him from somewhere far away that he had done a good job for once.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few tiresome hours later, Nathan found himself back in Niki Sanders' hospital room. He sat down in one of the bedside chairs and grasped her IV-laced hand.

Relief flooded him, the internal knot of guilt and worry loosening for the first time in ages. The man he saved was going to be all right. Niki was going to be all right. Parkman had apparently forgotten about him in the melee or lost him once they arrived at the hospital. Things could be looking up for once.

The hand Nathan was holding spasmed suddenly and sharply. Niki's eyes flew open and she looked around wildly. It didn't take a doctor to realize something was wrong; the bone-crushing grip she had on Nathan's hand was enough to convince him.

Slowly, Niki turned her head until she was looking directly at Nathan, her eyes almost red with fury.

"Where's my daughter?" she hissed, her voice a dry, menacing whisper.

Nathan sat there in shock, wondering what the hell was happening. This was clearly not the Niki he had come to know, had come to…

The pop of one of Nathan's fingers breaking brought him back to reality and the madwoman with the merciless strength in her hands and heart.

"Where's my daughter?!" she shrieked again. Nathan expected to see tears in her clearly distraught eyes. None came.

"Niki?" he said, trying to remain calm. He wanted to reason with her, maybe get her to release his mangled hand, but it came out in the form of a one-word question.

Clearly, it was the right one to ask.

Niki's forehead creased, confusion radiating from her fearsome eyes. "No," she replied, gaining momentum again. "It's Jessica."

With that she lunged up and across the bed, straight for Nathan.

-------------------

Ando Masahashi sighed and flipped through another strange magazine. Why the hospital had so many about homes and gardens, he didn't understand. If he were in a hospital, the last thing on his mind would be gardening.

He shifted in the squeaky plastic chair, glancing up at his friend's burnt and battered form in the bed beside him. Ando shook his head. For weeks, Hiro had been going on about his 'destiny' and how something drastic was about to happen. Ando secretly thought if his friend had a death wish, he could have waited until he was closer to home to act upon it. Nothing screamed "erratic behavior" like getting in a massive car accident in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Hiro's eyelids fluttered. He looked so strange without his trademark glasses. His lips moved imperceptibly as he mumbled something.

Ando put down his magazine. "What did you say, Hiro?"

Hiro turned his head to look at Ando. A slight cloud of confusion hovered over his face; Ando figured the heavy medication was kicking in, especially after Hiro responded with:

"… Flying Man…?"

-------------------

"Sir! Mr. Gray!" Nathan didn't even bother to acknowledge the frantic nurse following him. "Sir, your discharge papers – "

"Were signed several hours ago," Nathan snapped, turning sharply on his heel to face the cowering brunette trailing him.

"Well, I don't think that covers your most recent injury," the nurse stated, drawing herself up to full height.

Nathan sighed. "I'll come by the nurse's station in a few hours. If anyone needs me, I'll be waiting in that lobby over there." He jabbed a finger in the direction he was headed. "Got it?" The meek worker simply nodded before retreating into another patient's room.

Nathan resumed his walk, trying to drape his jacket over his injured arm as casually as possible. He hadn't needed a full cast, but several of his metacarpals were either fractured or bruised, along with part of his ego.

His brave front was more of a mask for his inward shame than for any physical pain. Nathan kicked himself mentally for what seemed like the millionth time – how could he not have known?

Scratch that – how _could_ he have known? How could _she_ be in Niki's – nice, normal, family-oriented Niki – body when she was supposed to be six feet under. Jessica Sanders was supposed to be dead and buried, thanks to that conniving Daniel Linderman…

"Petrelli."

Nathan made the mistake of answering to his given surname and found himself face to face with Matt Parkman.

"Parkman," he responded curtly, deciding it best not to play any mind games. "Long time no see."

"Not long enough," Matt answered, a grin flitting across his features briefly. "You supposed to be here?"

"You mean the hospital? Apparently." Nathan proffered his injured wrist for Matt to inspect.

"Funny," Matt noted, sounding not the least bit amused. "This doesn't happen often, so bear with me." He shuffled in place for a moment before adding, "I'm here to apologize."

"Come again?" Nathan asked sounding innocent, hoping to make the cop suffer just a little more.

"It seems there was a mistake made on your case way back when," Matt explained.

"You would know," Nathan added. "I mean, after all, weren't you the one handling it _way back when_?"

Matt diplomatically ignored his jab. "Anyway, it seems that some of the charges made against you for assault weren't as rock-solid as the police would have liked. Some of the victims were questioned again and now claim they aren't sure one hundred percent sure who exactly it was."

"Really," Nathan stated, trying to hide his shock. Could he really be off the hook for one of his numerous crimes?

Matt shrugged. "Really," he replied before adding nonchalantly, "of course, we did track down the real criminal."

Nathan's heart stopped beating as the blood in his veins ran dry. "Really," he repeated again, hoarsely.

Matt nodded in consent, not seeming to notice his companion's pale and shaken demeanor. "Yeah, some junkie artist guy, Isaac Mendez. Does that name ring any bells?" Nathan shook his head, mostly in confusion, but Matt continued. "Did a search of his 'loft' and turned up quite a number of incriminating paintings."

"Incriminating?" Nathan asked with concern.

"Let's just say there's no way that guy could have painted something like that unless he was there, assaulting those people, at that exact point in time," Matt explained assuredly.

"So not unless he was seeing things?" Nathan joked half-heartedly.

Matt chuckled. "When you've done that many drugs, it's hard to say." Nathan forced a quiet smile before returning to gloom.

"But seriously, I apologize," Matt began, "on behalf of the whole station, and especially, for my own actions. I shouldn't have assumed…"

Nathan held up his uninjured hand to cut him off. "Really, that's not necessary."

Matt looked at his shoes for a moment before looking back up at Nathan. "So have you heard anything about that businessman you saved?" he inquired.

"The doctors say he's going to come out all right physically," Nathan replied. "Mentally, I'm not so sure. Something like that happens to you, who knows when you're gonna snap."

Matt nodded again and grinned slightly into the distance. "I hear from his friend he was already a little messed up in the head." Nathan looked at the officer questioningly. "He said he's been going on for months about destiny and saving people… as if one person could save the future."

"That can't be done," Nathan stated plainly as his brain protested. Casually, he gazed up at the nearest clock.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, Parkman, I believe I should get checked out, make room in this hospital for the next impending disaster."

"Right," Matt responded, "well, it was nice… talking to you?"

Nathan turned to look at him once again. "If you can get me off the hook for a crime every time we 'catch up,' I hope to see you a lot more in the future." With that, Nathan strode away.

"I have a feeling I will be seeing a lot more of you in the future," Matt remarked to himself smugly; he had Petrelli right where he wanted him. Upon hearing everything the 'reformed' man had thought during their conversation, Matt was relieved he had long ago perfected his poker face.

-----------------

After an extensive checkout from the hospital, Nathan retraced his path, darting around and between medical personnel of all sorts. He could picture the spot in his mind, if only he could reach it…

_There_. Nathan paused at the end of the hallway at the back of the hospital where no one resided. One wall was knocked down, the other covered in layers of yellow Caution tape. At the end of the remodeled hallway stood one perfect window, large enough for a person to fit through even while standing.

Nathan looked around to make sure no one was watching and took a running start.

He may have had his heartless (or thoughtless) moments, but this was not one of them. Nathan knew that, as much as he valued his freedom, he wasn't going to sit idly by while an innocent man got put in jail for a crime he committed.

Maybe the Japanese man believed one person could change the future. Maybe Parkman didn't. But Nathan knew he was man caught in the middle, one who wouldn't know until he tried.

Nathan broke through the glass, and as his body started to fall toward the alley below, his feet his the window ledge, and he took off in flight.

**A/N**: Since I conceived the idea for this story a long time ago, I probably won't be including any new characters. As of now, I'm using only Season 1 characters (plus Elle) as the main Les Mis players.


End file.
